


Pissing The Bed For Fun And Profit

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Emotional Constipation [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Crying, Emotional Catharasis, Face Slapping, Forced Eye Contact, Incest, M/M, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Podfic Welcome, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18645328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Diego wasnothaving nightmares, okay?





	Pissing The Bed For Fun And Profit

**Author's Note:**

> It took me _three_ fics to get to the piss fic! I must be losing my touch!

Diego Hargreeves stood in the laundry room of his childhood home, frowning at one of the washing machines. It was almost three in the morning, and the washer was old enough that it rattled; if, god forbid, a zipper, a buckle, or a button end up in there, the whole thing sounded like a can full of pebbles. It had been a terror when they’d still been superheroing - all those costumes, constantly needing to be washed. All three machines were in pretty bad shape by now, and he winced a bit every time it creaked. At least this load of laundry was relatively quiet - the only things being washed were his sheets and his pajamas.

His wet sheets.

Because he’d wet the bed.

Again.

Diego had never been a bedwetter. He’d been the first member of the Umbrella Academy to toilet train (he still wasn’t sure if he was proud of that, or embarrassed that Reginald had noted that down and he had to read it all these years later), he’d never wet the bed, he’d never wet his pants. He’d barely even had wet dreams as a teenager. So why, at the ripe old age of thirty, was he waking up to pissy sheets and sodden pajamas? What was he supposed to do about it? Did he need to get his prostate examined, or have them do the thing with the little camera on the rod that they shoved up your dick, or whatever other terrifying things medical science had dreamed up? What if they just declared “sorry, 29 years of continence is all you’re gonna get, enjoy your life of diaper rash” and he was stuck in diapers for the rest of his life? 

(He wasn’t thinking about the nightmares.)

Diego was fully aware that he was chasing himself in circles, no doubt giving himself a headache. Since he’d taken a step back from vigilantism, he often found himself doing that; too much time in his own head, not enough time cracking other people’s. Maybe he’d always been this prone towards navel gazing and just hadn’t time for it before. Klaus had suggested he take up knitting, or maybe watercolors. He said Diego was getting twitchy from all the staying in.

As if summoned, Diego’s brother came sauntering in. Nobody had a right to saunter this late at night, and definitely not while wearing red pajama pants printed with moose. “Late night laundry, huh?” Klaus said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Laundry needs to be done,” Diego said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Klaus liked to find the chinks in someone’s armor and shove his fingers into them, digging until he got to the soft, meaty bits; Diego had once seen Klaus shell an oyster, and the image had… stuck with him. It was a pretty apt comparison. 

“Why the sudden pressing urge?” Klaus crowded closer, putting one hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Your hair is wet. Were you showering?”

As nice as it was to have Klaus sober again - objects didn’t disappear, Klaus wasn’t naked at random intervals, and generally seemed much healthier - he was _much_ quicker on the uptake. Annoyingly quick on the uptake.

“I sweat through my sheets,” Diego said, gruffly. “My room’s too hot.”

“It’d be cooler if you opened your windows,” Klaus pointed out.

“Why are _you_ awake?” Diego tried to turn the questions back on Klaus, which didn’t always work. 

“I keep weird hours. It goes with the whole junkie-chic thing.” Klaus fluttered his fingers, gesturing to himself. 

Diego snorted. “Isn’t that in bad taste?”

“It’s not in bad taste if _I’m_ the one saying it,” said Klaus. “I’m trying to do the whole ‘circles under the eyes’ look the natural way, without makeup.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “You should go sleep,” he told Klaus.

“And you should open your windows,” said Klaus. “Especially when you’re doing late night laundry for the third time this week.”

Klaus was _entirely_ too canny. 

Diego resisted the urge to yell, to argue, to react at all. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching the machine. It was probably as much of a tell as anything else, but… well, what else was he going to do? 

“Night, bro,” said Klaus, and he pressed a wet, mustache-y kiss to Diego’s cheek. 

Diego made an annoyed noise and wiped up the wet spot. He didn’t push Klaus away - he wrapped an arm around Klaus’s waist, gave him a squeeze, then let go. It had gotten easier to be affectionate with his family, after all of the White Violin business. They were all fucked up, but they were the only people who _got_ how fucked up they were. Who else did they have to turn to for comfort, if not each other? It was harder to hold on to old hurts when the consequences of treating each other like crap included the moon exploding. 

Nobody needed that.

And okay, he was feeling _better_ since he’d started to let them in, at least a little bit, and it had been pretty good. Apart from the fact that he was wetting the bed now, which was... _annoying_ , but he’d figure something out.

Klaus nuzzled into his neck, right in the sweet spot that always gave Diego shivers, and goose bumps spread across Diego’s skin like wind on a wheat field. Maybe they were all a lot closer than family _should_ have been, but they were also _weirder_ than any family should have been, so it all evened out. It wasn’t the first time he’d had Klaus pressed against him like this, or in other variations on the theme. Sometimes, they were even naked. Fucking around was a habit all of the Hargreeves kids had picked up around puberty, when they’d all been under the same roof. Now they were all under the same roof again, and it was easy to fall back into it.

Klaus wandered out, looking thoughtful. Diego wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was always a bad sign, when Klaus looked thoughtful - it usually meant he was plotting something. Although he wasn’t sure what Klaus plotting entailed these days, since he wasn’t trying to get his next fix. Diego watched him go, trying not to be too obvious about staring at Klaus’s ass. He was too tired to be horny, and too… something else - dealing with the shame over wetting the bed, the confusion as to why it was happening in the first place. Right now, he just wanted to sleep, and he couldn’t do _that_ until he had moved his sheets to the dryer. So… twenty minutes to go. 

* * *

Over the course of the week, Diego washed his sheets two more times. He was beginning to worry about it. He wasn’t going to think about the nightmares, because there weren’t any nightmares to think about, so he didn’t have to think about them. It was handy like that. 

It wasn’t as if he was peeing himself when he was awake, and he was doing his best to minimize the bedwetting otherwise - no liquids after six o’clock, peeing before bed, cutting down on the caffeine. All of the preventative measures felt faintly ridiculous, but not more ridiculous than having to wash his sheets in the dead of night. At least nobody was noticing. Because… well. 

Well. 

He woke up from some strange, eerie nighttime wanderings (not nightmares, because he wasn’t having nightmares) to find himself warm and wet, his pajama pants clinging to his thighs and his groin, covers tangled around his knees. He’d pissed a lot this time - it was all the way up to the middle of his stomach, the wet spot spreading up towards his chest. His dick must have been pointing up, or he’d shifted position at the wrong moment. As if there was a right moment in all of this.

It was all gross. Gross, shameful, and altogether not a thing he wanted to deal with. He was still foggy with whatever dream he’d been in the teeth of (not a bad dream, though - he didn’t have nightmares), and he sat there for almost a minute, trying to sort himself out. He was practically shaking as he stripped the bed and made his way down the hallway with his pungent armful. His legs were cold, and he was chafing in unpleasant places.

_Fuck_. 

Diego made his way towards the laundry room, praying to whatever deity looked after him (the one that had kept him from head injuries, stabbing, and general bodily harm) that he wouldn’t run into anyone. The same deity must have been feeling nice, because there was nobody in the hallway, nobody in the stairwell. Diego was already formulating a plan, trying not to think about the way the wet fabric was clinging to his body, stinging as it began to dry. He’d dump everything into the washer, slink into the bathroom next to the laundry room, have a shower, and borrow whatever clothes he was able to fit into. There was always someone’s something in the clean laundry pile - a house this size, someone always needed a clean something or other. He just hoped he didn’t end up having to wear anything of Allison’s. She was already tetchy about Klaus constantly borrowing her stuff. Then again, she’d blame any missing clothes on Klaus, so it wasn’t as if it would come back to bite Diego in the ass.

He was aware, in a distant sort of way, that he was gabbling within the confines of his own head. It had been… it hadn’t been a good sleep. He shied away from any other thoughts, because: no. He must have been tired, if his brain was chasing itself in circles like this.

But he just needed to not run into anyone else - needed to just shower off all the tacky, sticky piss and wash his sheets. He needed to figure out why his body was doing all of this, why it was _betraying_ him like this. His body was a temple. He’d… fix the metaphorical masonry, or whatever, but he had to figure out where he was crumbling, first. 

To make matters worse, Klaus was sitting on the washing machine. Sitting on the washing machine, which was _on_ , which… what the hell?

“Diego!” Klaus said cheerfully, as if Diego was an old friend he’d run into at the farmer’s market on some sunny morning, and not his piss soaked brother in the family laundry room at three in the morning.

Diego debated walking out; he debated jumping out the window and running into the night; he debated doing a whole bunch of things, all of them improbable and increasingly ridiculous. It was a quick debate - it took him maybe five seconds altogether, then gave up. Anything he did, Klaus would probably follow him. So instead, he sighed. “Klaus, why are you here?”

“My vibrator broke,” Klaus said, and Diego finally noticed the bulge under his skirt. 

“So you came into the laundry room to jerk off?” That was, admittedly, a very Klaus thing to do.

“If I’d already jerked off, I’d have come already, and I wouldn’t need to be in the laundry room in the first place,” Klaus said. 

It took Diego’s sleepy brain a few seconds to catch up with that, and then he wrinkled his nose. “Fuckin’... really?”

Klaus shrugged. “So you pissed the bed,” he said, changing the subject fast enough for Diego to get whiplash. 

“It was an accident,” Diego said stiffly. He still had his wet sheets bundled in his arms, and the smell was beginning to worm its way into his head, sharp and astringent.

“I didn’t take you for the kind of freak-o pervert who’d pee the bed for fun,” said Klaus, and he jumped off the washing machine, all long limbs and flapping black skirt. He wasn’t wearing anything on top, and his pale skin seemed to glow in the yellow light of the laundry room.

“Allison is gonna be mad at you for getting her clothes dirty again,” said Diego. He recognized the skirt - it was a favorite of Allison’s, and with good reason. It made her legs that longer, and her hips that much more grabbable. Come to think of it, that was probably why Klaus had borrowed it.

“I won’t be getting them dirty, as long as I don’t rub up on you,” said Klaus. “How much did you have to drink? You look like you pissed up to your nipples!”

There was something familiar about the way Klaus was looking him up and down, and Diego flushed, clearing his throat. “You’re seriously getting turned on by this?” He tried to keep his voice dry, sarcastic. “Weren’t you just decrying pervert freak-os who wet the bed for fun? I’d say that someone getting off to that sort of thing was even _more_ of a freak-o pervert.”

“Where did I decry them?” Klaus put his hands behind his head, stretching his back out. He looked faintly like a spider caught underneath a cup, all long legs and skittering movements. 

“You called them freak-o perverts,” Diego reminded him.

“I meant it affectionately,” Klaus said. “What’s got you pissing the bed so much, bro?” He took the armful of wet sheets from Diego, and dumped them on the floor. 

Diego frowned - that spot would have to be mopped now. “I don’t know,” he said. He probably should have denied it - although it was kind of hard to deny, in a situation like this. 

“I used to wet the bed when I was a teengaer,” said Klaus. He said it casually - _actually_ casually, too, not just the fake casual tone he used when he’d drop a particularly flashy bombshell and wanted to see how everyone would react.

“What, when you were on your binges and would get too high to move?”

“I’d have nightmares about being locked up in that crypt again,” said Klaus, and this was a different sort of casual tone. It put Diego on edge. “I’d think I was dead, and I was being buried alive. I’d wake up with my sheets over my face, and think it was a layer of dirt, and then… well, that opened the floodgates.”

“I’m not having nightmares,” Diego said sharply.

“I hear you thrashing around in your sleep,” said Klaus.

“What, you’re listening at my door?” Diego was hit with a veritable _surge_ of anger, energy racing up his arms like an electric current. He was reminded, unexpectedly, of the wires running through Grace’s arms, and some nameless emotion sank down into him, like a stone in a river. 

"When my thirty year old brother starts to piss the bed, I worry," Klaus said, and now he sounded annoyed. "I get that you're trying to pull off some bullshit macho... bullshit, but something ain't right in that noggin of yours." He leaned forward, tapping Diego on the forehead with one of his pointy fingers. 

"Why'd you think I was pissing the bed?" Diego had thought he'd been pretty sneaky about it. Admittedly, the whole family was all so wrapped up in their own problems it was downright miraculous when any of them noticed _anything_ outside of their own heads. 

Diego included himself in this assessment - he wasn't sure he would have noticed if any of his other siblings had started wetting the bed. 

"Because I'm not stupid," said Klaus, and he pressed closer, until they were chest to chest.

"Allison's skirt is gonna get dirty," Diego said. The rage was still simmering under the surface of his mind, mingled with... something else. Shame, but a squirming, burrowing shame that seemed to be trying to crawl through his guts and into the floor.

"We're in the laundry room," said Klaus. He draped his long arms over Diego's shoulders, and rested his forehead against Diego's. His breath smelled like cigarettes, and a little bit like the chocolate chip cookies he kept stashed in his bedroom for sudden attacks of the munchies.

"I should do my laundry," said Diego, and he moved to pull away. 

Klaus tightened his grip. "Or we could talk about the nightmares."

"I'm not having nightmares," said Diego automatically. 

"So you're pissing the bed for fun and profit?" Klaus's hand went to the back of Diego's head, tangled in Diego's hair.

"Profit?"

"You're gorgeous," Klaus said. "Plenty of people would pay good money to watch you piss the bed, or your pants, or on someone else. Watch you pee in general."

"You sound you like you've got experience with this kind of thing," Diego said, his voice as dry as dust. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know or not. 

"I've led an interesting life," Klaus said blithely. "But I mean it. People would totally pay."

"Would you?" This was a surreal conversation to be having, but at least they weren't talking about nightmares (which Diego was _not_ having). 

"Why would I pay for something I could see for free?" Klaus waggled his eyebrows like something out of those old _Marx Brothers_ movies that Luther had watched obsessively when they were all about seven.

"You think I'd let you watch me pee?" Diego shifted his weight, and winced - the fabric of his pajama pants was stiff with drying piss, and the way they rubbed against his balls and his thighs was far from comfortable. He hadn't been in pissy clothes for this long since he started potty training.

"I think you'd let me do a lot of things," said Klaus, and he leaned forward and kissed Diego.

Diego kissed him back, even though Klaus breath stank of cigarettes and his stubble rubbed Diego's cheeks raw. It wasn't as if Diego had room to complain when it came to scents; he wasn't going to throw any stones from his urine-scented glass house. 

Klaus's tongue was as manic as his speech, swiping across Diego's own tongue, tracing along Diego's teeth, flickering over Diego's palate. He cradled Diego's face in his long-fingered hands, his thumbs on Diego's cheekbones, his index finger tracing along one of the scars along Diego's temple. When Klaus pulled back, he was panting, his eyes dark and his lips swollen. He pressed himself closer to Diego, his nose fitting perfectly into the space beside Diego's, and his breath was hot across Diego's chin. 

"I know you're having nightmares," Klaus said, and his lips were moving against Diego's. "Don't try to run from them. Own up to them, and deal with it."

"That's rich, coming from you," Diego said, and he made to pull away. "You've been running away from the shit you're afraid of your whole life."

"I'm sober now," Klaus said. "Mostly. I deal with the whole "being followed by corpses" pretty well, all things considered."

Diego snorted. "Anyway," he said, "I'm not having nightmares." There was a yawning chasm in the back of his mind, and if he peered into it - let alone tried to fill it with something else - he might just die. 

"Fine," said Klaus. "Fine. So you're just a dirty pervert who's pissing the bed. Not even to make money off of it, just to do it. To get you horny."

"I'm not horny," Diego said, although that wasn't strictly true. His feelings were all tangled up, knotted in his gut, like the time he'd dropped Grace's basket of yarn. He had at least a half chub, mostly from the kissing. The arousal was tinged with rage, with shame - the whole mess of it twisted and thrashed inside of him, as if he'd inherited Ben's powers. Was this the kind of shit Ben had put up with all the time?

... Ben could see all of this, couldn't he? That was a terrifying thought. Ben watching Diego, taking in Diego's tented, saturated pajama pants.

Klaus's hands were going to Diego's shoulders now, pushing Diego down onto his knees. To Diego's mild shock, he was down among the wet sheets now, his eyes level with Klaus's crotch. He could have gotten up, considering how much stronger he was than Klaus, but... he didn’t. He was just here, looking up at his brother, his brother's erection level with his face. "For someone who's been calling me a pervert, you sure have one hell of a boner," said Diego, and he wrapped his hand around Klaus's bony ankle. 

Klaus looked down at him. "I never said I _wasn't_ a pervert," he pointed out. "A pervert is better than an emotionally repressed douchebag any day of the week."

"I’m not emotionally repressed,” Diego snapped.

“I notice you don’t deny that you’re a douchebag,” said Klaus, smirking. He had such an obnoxious smirk.

“I’m not that either,” said Diego. His head was spinning, and thinking was beginning to feel like trying to wade through mashed potatoes. He was having a lot of feelings, but the feelings seemed to be happening to the left of himself. He was _aware_ of things happening, but not quite sure how. 

“So what are you feeling right now?” Klaus ran a hand through Diego’s hair, which was stiff with sweat. 

“Annoyed that you’re jerking me around,” said Diego, because that was the answer that was closest to the surface.

Klaus forced Diego’s head back, his fingers digging into Diego's scalp. His nails weren’t necessarily _sharp_ , but they were solid, and they dug into the sensitive skin, sending more little shockwaves of arousal to twist through the ones already writhing in Diego’s stomach. He gave Diego’s hair another yank, and Diego shuddered. “How about you try telling me the truth?” He kept their eye contact, pulling Diego’s hair every time Diego tried to break it. Diego was hard in his pajama pants, cock throbbing up at him like an accusation.

“Go fuck yourself,” Diego said, before his brain caught up with his mouth. 

Klaus’s laugh - a rough, delighted sound - filled the room, and drew his hand back and slapped Diego’s face, hard enough that Diego’s ears rang. Diego blinked up at Klaus, uncomprehending. 

“Did you just _hit_ me?” 

Klaus let go of Diego’s hair to rub his own palm, making a face. “Ow,” he said. “All the pornos make that look so easy. God, your face is _all_ bones.” 

“That’s what a face is, dumbass,” said Diego. “Skin, over a skull.” 

Klaus rolled his eyes. “You sound awfully high and mighty for a guy sitting there in his piss soaked pajamas and refusing to admit that he has bad dreams,” said Klaus.

It took a second for Diego to catch all those bits of sentence. “I don’t have bad dreams,” he said firmly.

“So you just like being soaked in piss?” Klaus’s voice had an odd tone to it, and Diego squinted up at him, then back down to Klaus’s crotch, which was still at eye level. Klaus’s hard-on had gone down a bit - an unstoppable force (Klaus’s libido) meeting an immovable object (Diego's stubbornness).

“Yes,” Diego snapped. “Yes. You found my secret. I love to be covered in piss.” He was being sarcastic - so sarcastic it dripped from every word, the way the piss had dripped down his thighs, and oh _my_ but that was a simile, wasn’t that? He couldn’t believe he’d said that; he was aware that he was teetering over that same vast chasm in the back of his mind, and he was holding on by the very _tips_ of his fingernails. 

“Good to know,” Klaus said. His tone had changed; it was downright cheerful. Then he was lifting the skirt up, and he wasn’t wearing any underwear. His half hard cock was right in front of Diego’s face, the head purple. His hand was wrapped around his cock, just under the head. “If I were you,” Klaus said, his voice faintly strained, “I’d look down.” 

Diego caught wind of what Klaus was about to do about three seconds before it happened. He spent two seconds calculating exactly what he was going to do, and one second looking down. He couldn’t move. As disgusting as it was, some small part of him welcomed the first splash of heat across the crown of his head - some part of him thought that he _deserved_ this. 

Klaus’s piss soaked into his hair and dripped down the sides of his head. It ran down the back of his pajama shirt; some of it trickled across his face. Klaus moaned, and it was a proper moan, a porn star moan. It made Diego’s cock twitch in his pants, and the shame and arousal seemed to be pulling tighter inside of him, until he was half afraid he’d be torn in half, like a piece of clay on a wire.

“God, Diego, you’re a pervert,” Klaus mumbled, and his hand was in Diego’s hair now. He was pissing over his own hand now, but he didn’t seem to care. His stream tapered off, and then Klaus’s wet hand was on Diego’s face, cupping Diego’s cheek. It was wet, and it smelled like ammonia. The skirt had fallen down, and it brushed against Klaus’s shins. 

Diego opened his eyes (carefully), and he looked up at Klaus. The inside of his head was a mix of loud and quiet - a whole bunch of feelings wanted to come out of his face for some reason, which was confusing. But he had also just let Klaus _pee on his face_ , so maybe weird shit was just happening. It was late at night (except this used to be when he was awake, and now he was a person who slept at night, and he didn’t know how he felt about that either, because… well).

“You’re such a sick fuck,” said Klaus, but he said it like he loved Diego. He _did_ love Diego, didn’t he? “I bet that’s why you went in for being a vigilante. You wanted to get beaten up, but you didn’t have the guts to actually ask someone to beat you up.”

A spike of… what? Rage? Sorrow? Shame? Whatever it was, it shot up through Diego’s body, left his muscles tense, and something in his chest was pulling tight. He had a lump in his throat, and he was beginning to sweat; more bodily fluids to join all the other ones. There was a broken sobbing sound filling the room, a counterpoint to the humming of the machine Klaus had been sitting on.

Oh.

Hey. 

There was wetness sliding down Diego’s cheeks, and it couldn’t be Klaus’s piss, because that was already starting to dry. Was he… crying?

Klaus was holding his face, expression tender, and the sight of it made Diego’s stomach turn. He didn’t want that, he didn’t _deserve_ that, tenderness wasn’t for him. Although... where the fuck were these thoughts coming from?

“Klaus,” Diego said, and his voice was hoarse. How’d that happen?

“Yeah?”

“Hit my face,” said Diego. Why? Fucked if he knew, but he wanted it again. The quiet in his head from the hit was already dissipating, and he missed it.

Klaus was still holding Diego’s cheek, but he gave it a squeeze. “Ask me nicely,” he said. 

“Please hit my face.” Diego’s cheeks were still wet. He didn’t want to be crying. He didn’t want to know _why_ he was crying in the first place - he wanted that to happen somewhere else, to someone else. 

“Say that you’ve been having nightmares,” said Klaus.

“You’ve been having nightmares,” Diego said, because even at a time like this, he couldn’t just give in. 

Kalus rolled his eyes. “You’re such a goddamn brat,” he told Diego. “Tell me what I want to hear, or -”

“Or what?”

_hit me fuck me choke me spit on me step on me hurt me_

The enormity of his feelings crashing down made Diego’s head hurt - they seemed to be throbbing in time with his cock. 

“Or I’ll walk out of here and go back to bed,” said Klaus, and he pressed the flat of his finger against Diego’s nose. “I’ll leave you alone in a puddle of piss to deal with your own problems.”

“Don’t go,” Diego said. His voice cracked - there were still tears on his face, and a sob clawed its way out of him every now and then, but otherwise, he was as stoic as ever. He liked to think he was, at least.

“So admit you’re having nightmares,” said Klaus, as if it was that easy.

Diego opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He opened it again, but nothing came out. 

“God, you’re _so repressed_ ,” Klaus said. Diego couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or impressed.

Diego took a deep, gulping breath. “I’ve been having nightmares,” he gritted out.

“Very good,” Klaus said, and he slapped Diego, hard. 

For all the abuse that Diego normally took, he’d almost never been slapped in the face. He was so _aware_ of it - all the nerves in his face lighting up, right where Klaus had hit him, he was having an out of body experience, sort of - he was in the body on the floor, sweating and soaked with piss, throbbing with arousal. He was also _watching_ the body on the floor, as Klaus’s hand drew back and hit him again. Diego’s ear was ringing, and his cock throbbed in time with it - each beat of his heart was like an accusation, although even now he wasn’t sure what he was being accused of. It matched the pain in his face, at least.

“You’re having nightmares,” said Klaus. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Diego, and that wasn’t actually the truth. Or maybe it _was_ true, but it wasn’t, all at the same time. There were so many things happening, all at the same time. He was having feelings, and there were so many complicated, conflicted ones trying to make their way out of him. Why was he having nightmares? Why _wouldn’t_ he be having nightmares? He deserved nightmares, after - 

Klaus yanked on Diego’s hair, pulling Diego out of his reverie. “I really want you to suck my dick right now,” he told Diego, his tone completely friendly - conversational, even. 

“I’m having a big emotional moment and you want to get your _dick sucked_?” Diego was on the verge of… something. Hysterical laughter? More crying? He wasn’t sure, except that it was bubbling up his throat like a science fair volcano.

“I mean, I could point out that you do best when you’re not actually thinking too much, and it will probably do you good to concentrate on something productive,” said Klaus. 

“Productive,” Diego said, deadpan. He was impressed, in spite of himself - Klaus was as self centered as a tornado, most of the time.

“But I also really want to get my dick sucked.” Klaus gave a hip shimmy, and his cock pushed up the fabric of the skirt. 

“Do you ever not want to have your dick sucked?” Diego tried to sound like he was in control, and not like he was covered in piss, his face and his dick pulsing in tandem. 

“Sometimes I want to put it into other places,” said Klaus.

“What kind of other places?”

“Cunts, asses, souffles -”

“You are a sick fuck,” Diego said, regaining some of his dignity, or his mind, or… whatever it was.

“And you’re about to suck your brother’s dick after you let him piss on you,” said Klaus. 

Diego flushed. When he put like that, well… 

“Can you hit me again?” His voice was quiet.

“Ask me again, but nicer,” said Klaus. He pulled the skirt up again, and his cock bobbed in front of Diego’s face, the tip flushed, a bead of pre-come dripping down. 

_It’s gonna taste like piss_ , was Diego’s first thought. _I don’t actually care_ was his second one. 

“Please hit me,” said Diego. 

“Why?” A surprisingly sharp question from Klaus, especially at a time like this.

“Because I want you to,” said Diego, lacking anything else to say.

“Smartass,” groused Klaus.

Diego grinned. 

“Just for that, I’m not gonna hit you,” said Klaus. 

_How fucked up am I, that not hitting me is upsetting me?_ Diego was having too many feelings at present to figure out what degree of fucked up this all was. He just looked up at Klaus.

“I can never resist your face,” Klaus said, and he used a hand to press the head of his cock against Diego’s cheek. It probably didn’t feel that nice, what with the scruff, but Klaus was rolling his hips forward, fucking the channel he’d made between Diego’s cheek and his palm. It was so _much_ \- everything smelled like piss, like laundry, like Klaus. He opened his mouth, and Klaus’s cock glided across his tongue like a snake in the grass. He could taste the lingering undertone of piss, the salt of Klaus’ skin. 

Klaus’s hand was on the back of Diego’s head now, pushing him forward. He opened his mouth wider, and he moaned. The cock on his tongue was not as familiar as Klaus’s face, but not strange, either. He sucked it awkwardly, letting Klaus move his head up and down. He felt more like a fleshlight than a person, but he wasn’t going to complain - there was something freeing about it. Klaus wanted to use his mouth, Klaus wanted to use his throat, his tongue. “You’re a good guy, Diego,” Klaus panted, and he rolled his hips forward, forcing his cock down Diego’s throat. 

Diego gagged, his throat constricting around the head of Klaus’s cock, and Klaus moaned again, louder this time.

“I’m not just saying that b-b-because you’re sucking my cock, either,” said Klaus. His voice was thick and heavy. “Although, _fuck_ , you’re a born cocksucker. You’re so fucking good at this, I can’t get… get over how g-g-good you are, swallowing my cock down. Suck it, Diego. Make me feel good, fuck…” A stream of dirty talk - entreaties, threats, promises. Diego ignored it - it was Klaus. He never shut up. Diego concentrated on sucking, on keeping his throat open and his teeth covered. His tongue jabbed at the slit of Klaus’s cock when he could access it, traced along the base of Klaus’s cock when he couldn’t. There was drool down his chin, mixing with the sweat, the piss, the tears. The skirt was half over his head, and it was already damp at the hem. 

Allison wasn’t going to be happy about that.

He’d make it up to her. Maybe even in this same position. 

Klaus’s grip changed, and then he was taking deeper, fuller strokes, pulling almost all the way out, then shoving himself back in, forcing his way into Diego’s body. Well, “forcing,” except Diego could break out of Klaus’s hold before Klaus even knew what was happening, and that made things easier, didn’t it? He could hold it in his head that this was a thing that was happening, let it be a thing that was happening, even as he was fully in control the whole time.

Sort of.

Klaus had an iron sort of control, newly discovered upon sobriety, of Diego was only now realizing the extent. Klaus’s thrusts were going deeper, until he was all the way down Diego’s throat, Diego’s nose mashed against Klaus’s belly. He rolled his hips slowly, gently, little jabs that had Diego’s throat spasming around his dick. 

And then Diego started paying attention again, because Klaus was talking. Klaus was such a goddamn motormouth, and Diego was getting better at just tuning it out, but there was a cock down his throat, and the inside of his head had shut up enough that he could hear what Klaus was saying. 

Not that he wanted to listen, but there wasn’t anything else for him to do. 

“You have feelings, Diego, you’re h-h-having nightmares, just admit t-t-to it, _fuck_ , do that tongue thing again, be a good pervert cocksucker and make your brother come.” 

Diego snorted, a puff of hot air across Klaus’s groin, and Klaus shuddered, his cock beginning to swell. His balls rubbed up against Diego’s chin, and that was going to be more beard burn. But the head of Klaus’s cock was pressing on the back of Diego’s throat, and Diego was shaking, he was sucking and drooling, his nose running, his eyes streaming. He let Klaus fuck his face, his hands on Klaus’s thighs, his fingers digging in. Klaus was going to have bruises, and Diego was going to have a roughed up voice. Diego was possibly crying over the stimulation, the humiliation, possibly over the bits of nightmare that were still clinging to him like spiderwebs. 

(Okay, so maybe he was having nightmares.)

“God, Diego, fuck, you’re such a dirty pervert, I can’t get _enough_ of how good you feel, your mouth, come on…” Klaus’s hips had sped up, lost all of their rhythm. He just fucked into Diego’s mouth, chasing his own orgasm with the single minded selfishness with which he pursued most things in life. He was panting, and the stream of obscenities had slowed down, as if had been dammed. Of course, when a dam broke, there was a whole flood. Diego had a feeling he’d lost the plot at some point, at least in regard to his metaphors, but now Klaus was pulling his cock out of Diego’s mouth, and Diego looked at Klaus’s mouth, and then at Klaus’s face, and then closed his eyes. 

The first hot glob of come hit his cheek, wet and sticky. It dripped, mixing with the drying piss and the sticky tears. He was disgusting right now, and it was what he fucking deserved, wasn’t it?

“Diego,” said Klaus, when he caught his breath. “Fuck, Diego.” And then he was… getting on the floor with Diego, awkward and ungainly, all knobbly knees and long feet. He pulled Diego into the space between his legs, and he pressed his forehead against Diego’s, getting some of his own come on his cheeks when they brushed against Diego’s. They were in such an awkward tangle of legs, but Klaus’s hand was sliding between the two of them, his fingers curling over Diego’s length through the stiff, tacky fabric, saturated with piss and pre-come. 

“It’s my fault,” Diego mumbled.

“What?” Klaus gave him a long, slow stroke, and Diego’s hips jerked forward. It was uncomfortable, but the drag of it made his toes curl.

“It’s my fault,” Diego said again, and those three little words seemed to unleash a flood from inside of him. “It’s my f-f-f-fault they’re d-d-dead, I…”

“Sh,” said Klaus, and he squeezed him hard enough that it almost hurt, but it felt _right_ on some other level, a level he didn’t know how to describe. 

“It’s my fault,” Diego said again, and his voice cracked like a plate. “I did it, it’s my fault, I -”

Klaus kissed him, jerked him off through the pajamas, and they must have been disgusting, all of this was just _disgusting_ , between the piss, the come, the tears. Diego was still mumbling against Klaus’s mouth, as he awkwardly humped into Klaus's hand. He was panting like he’d been running, stuttering out confessions of his own guilt, his breath reflecting hotly off of Klaus’s face. Klaus’s stubble was rubbing his his face, and it was… it was what Diego needed; rough, almost painful, humiliating and sticky. It left him tight and tense, because _why_ did he want this?

Because it was his fault, because it was what he deserved, because it was his fault. 

He was still babbling that, as the spring in his gut pulled tighter and tighter, his cock pulsing, and then he was groaning into Klaus’s mouth. His orgasm crashed down on him like a blow to the head, almost _painful_. His cock spurted into his pajama pants, further saturating the already sodden fabric. It soaked in, leaked through, and Diego was sticky with it as it dripped down his balls, smearing on his thighs. The sweet tingling in the pit of his stomach and the throbbing in his groin left him trembling, and the wad of emotional… mess came streaming out of his mouth.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Diego whispered, and he was more ashamed of that than the hot piss that was beginning to stream out of him, on the heels of his orgasm. How many times could he piss himself in a night?

Quite a few, apparently. 

“How about go take a shower,” said Klaus, “and you can tell me about them?” 

Instead of arguing, Diego just bowed his head, and nodded. Klaus had seen him like… this. How much more disgusted could Klaus get?

**Author's Note:**

> My beloved beta reader made a joke about how Diego needs a "thera-pissed" and now I must share it with all of you.


End file.
